


The Lavender Bear and Pink Lines

by ForgottenChesire



Series: Kinktober 2019 [10]
Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Flashbacks, Gen, Kinktober 2019, No Smut, Some Fluff, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 21:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20982635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenChesire/pseuds/ForgottenChesire
Summary: He goes up to the counter, aware of every eye that is on him. It isn’t Ponyville, it isn’t any city or town near there. The parents are looking at him in sympathy, assuming that he lost eggs not that he doesn’t have one, they must have seen him come in hunched and cradling his stomach. They don’t know that he’s done terrible things to have the chance.





	The Lavender Bear and Pink Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Day Ten Toys

The toy store is busy. They always are, no matter the city. Children of all the classing running and playing. Little hands grabbing at toys and parents laughing. Half Baked watches them through the window, arms wrapped around his stomach. He’s envious of them. The parents. The ones who cradle tiny babies and hold little hands. The ones who scold rambunctious kids that have knocked over displays.

He should move along. Parents get cagey when strangers watch their children. One hand moves from his stomach to the window. Furred fingertips trailing along the surface.

“It’s on sale if your wee one really wants it,” a voice interrupts his thoughts. Half Baked blinks, confused for a moment. And then he realizes that his hand is resting on the glass in front of a toy. A stuffed Ursa Minor, the fur a soft lavender instead of dark blue. It looks cuddly and squishy.

_ “Happy birthday, Half Baked!” _

_ “Thank ya kindly, Aunty Applesauce!” _

The employee moves closer when he doesn’t speak. His throat is tight.

“Oh! Oh no. Did I say something wrong?”

He shakes his head, smiles watery and loose at her.

“Ain’t got a wee one.”

He doesn’t say yet. Doesn’t tell her that there is a chance. He still has an arm wrapped around his stomach. She looks at him in pity, not sympathy but pity. And for a moment he hates her. She doesn’t know him. How can she pity him? But the anger drains away.

“Is it just in lavender or are there other ones?”

She leads him inside. Hand gently guiding him around mothers, fathers, sires, and dams. Past toys and children.

_ “As you know, today is special in more than it bein’ the day you were born.” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

There are stuffed animals by the shelfful. Each one as soft as the next. There are four different colors of Ursa Minors. Lavender, baby blue, green, and yellow. He grabs one of each color. Hugs them to his chest.

_ “The tests you have undergone have you labeled as Class F,” Apple Rose says kindly. She’s smiling at him from the monitor. Goldie Delicious nods her head. _

_ “But,” Aunt Applesauce says severely, “we have some concerns.” _

He goes up to the counter, aware of every eye that is on him. It isn’t Ponyville, it isn’t any city or town near there. The parents are looking at him in sympathy, assuming that he lost eggs not that he doesn’t have one, they must have seen him come in hunched and cradling his stomach. They don’t know that he’s done terrible things to have the chance.

_ “Both of your parents were Class F. And there were… complications.” _

_ “Your egg came out cracked. Your brain not completely correct. And then your father did the unthinkable. He left. He left you and he left his wife.” _

The price of the stuffed animals is a little high. A little steep. But he has credits set back. Money for a rainy day, or a joyous one. He has a test resting in the pocket of his coat. A coat he’s wearing just to hide that test from prying eyes. A pregnancy test. It’s been two months since he slept with Zephyr. He clutches the lavender Ursa Minor to his chest. Buries his face into it as the other three go into a bag.

He doesn’t recall leaving the store. He must have. Must have left and found his way to the train. Bullet fast it takes him home. Takes him to his tiny little apartment, with its tiny little kitchen and tiny bedroom. Everything but the closet is tiny. But it’s what he can afford. He’s got a death grip on the lavender Ursa Minor, head resting against the window and tears leaking out his eyes.

_ “We know it’s not your fault,” Apple Strudel continues as if he didn’t just bring up something that hurts Half Baked’s soul every time it’s brought up. _

_ “But, it casts a lot of worries. Especially, when we combine it with the fact your mother died not two years later. From untreated complications birthing your egg,” finishes Aunty Applesauce. _

The train slows to a stop, gleaming metal doors sliding open. Ponyville looks quaint compared to the steeliness of the train station. Metal upon metal that melts into stone and grass. He wipes away the tears and forces himself to smile and walk with a bounce in his step.

_ “Horseradish. That ain’t got nothin’ to do with Half Baked!”  _

_ And so the argument began. _

People wave to him. Smile at him as he walks home. No one looks at the toys. All too used to him clutching them. They think it’s because of his handicap. They don’t think, except maybe other Class B’s, that it’s from his desire, his need, his want for an egg.

_ “Granny Smith, you’ve been silent. What’s your opinion?” _

He’s in his apartment. The air conditioner chugging in the background as he enters his closet. It’s empty of clothes. Mostly. He has a plastic dresser in there for clothes. But mostly? Mostly there are toys. Purchased here and there. Collected and tucked away. A dollhouse. A dump truck. Stuffed cats and dogs and rabbits. Toys upon toys neatly stacked. He puts the three Ursa Minors with the stuffed animals.

The lavender one he puts on his bed. His hand grabs the pregnancy test. Clutches the box. The ten-minute wait is torture. Time moving slower than molasses in wintertime. He turns to his PCT for distraction. There are many missed notifications. All bright and cheery. Missed calls and messages. One catches his eye.

_ “I… I’m sorry Half Baked. But there… there are… I can’t,” Granny Smith bows her head. Takes a deep breath, “you have a high fertility score, higher than any I have ever seen but… but your handicap… it ain’t good for the Apple family gene pool. I’m sidin’ with Strudel and Aunty Applesauce on this. I’m revoking the Class F label and will be filing you under Class B.” _

It’s from Zephyr Breeze. 

‘Happy Birthday.’

Two little words and a selfie of the Pegasus class shirtless. Half Baked laughs and responds in kind, two words and a photo. Zephyr has been kind. Has been sweet. A friend. He looks at the stick that has been taunting him. Will the results change that? 

There are two pink lines. Two pink lines!

He jumps up and laughs in glee. Two pink lines! He’s going to be a dam! He’s going to be-

His knees lock up and down he goes looking at that test. Two pink lines. He’s… he’s going to be a  _ dam. _ Zephyr - pale furred and horrified at what he thought was an accidental breeding - is going to be a sire. It worked.

It  _ worked.  _ He swallows, happiness and excitement and sheer terror fighting in his heart. Thunderous beats thumping against his ribs. He has to tell Granny.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
Author Responses
> 
> This author replies to comments.  
This author, and boy does it feel weird to address myself like this lol, understands that leaving comments can be very stressful. She has a lot of anxiety. So if you don’t want me to answer your comments don’t worry, if you sign it with “~Whisper” I won’t reply. I love all of you so much!


End file.
